Tamed
by Wist
Summary: His body was weak, begging for the other man's touch. He couldn't help it. No matter how much he resisted, how desperately he struggled, it was all in vain. The man chuckled at the high priest's pleas. "This is what it is to be tamed."/BL, S&M, & lemons.
1. Vulnerable

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" the sky haired high priest cursed as he ran through Lighthalzen's dark alleys. His breath came in short gasps. He'd been running for ten minutes at least, fear being the only thing that kept him from collapsing. Deep gashes ran down and across both of his arms and back, his priestly robe torn and slashed. At this late hour, every shop and venue was closed, and running to the inn posed too much of a risk. The priest's only hope was to escape to the nearby field, north of the industrialized city, and teleport back to Prontera. It was possible that he could find sanctuary with Korsyke, his older brother. The stalker wouldn't dare attack a Lord Knight in the middle of such a busy city, especially one who served in the high ranks of King Tristan III's army.

Moments away from falling over with fatigue, the priest caught sight of a tall structure. Panting raggedly, the young priest's eyes lit up with hope, and he ran with restored vigor. The gate to the field was only a few steps away! If he could only reach it, he could make it back...

Suddenly, a powerful blow to the stomach knocked the priest onto his back, leaving him breathless and stunned. "Oh, you clever little boy," a low voice chuckled, "you were trying to get to the metaling field, weren't you? Trying to escape the teleportation restrictions on the city. Very clever." The priest choked as he felt a calloused hand wrap around neck and drag him into the ally, only a few meters away from the iron gate. "So, where were you planning to run to? Aldebaran? Geffen? Or perhaps Prontera?" The stranger let out a dark laugh when the priest weakly struggled upon hearing the name of his beloved city. He roughly shoved the younger boy against the wall in a corner far away from the gate, his feral grin glowing eerily in the dim moonlight.

"Sorry, kid, but no one's ever escaped me before, and I don't intend on changing that. Don't worry, we're gonna have a good time, you and I. I like you, kid. Really, I do. You got moxie, and that makes for a better chase. A real exciting one. I hate the stupid ones who try and hide in buildings, or the ones who give up when they get cornered. Idiots that try and beg for their lives, that pisses me off. But you," he said with amusement, bringing his face close to the other's ear, "I got you twice, and you still kept running. Gave me chills, seeing you take off like that, blood all over you and your robe half torn off. Never seen that before. Mouth-watering, I guess you could call it. After all, the other priests I've found just usually try talking to me, praying and all that shit. Not nearly as much fun. I don't even give them the honor of seeing my face, they're so boring. You weren't, though." The boy could feel the slow movement of a hand pressing eagerly against the inside of his thigh.

"We're going to have a good time tonight."

Rage boiled up within the young priest, and he struggled violently against his oppressor. "Bastard!" he hissed hoarsely, ignoring the fear that grew within his chest as the hand continued moving. "Those were innocent people! They did nothing to you!"

The stranger chuckled and roughly bit the priest's ear, causing the boy to let out a pitiful cry. "Language, language. You're a holy man after all. Come to think of it," he forced the boy to look him in the eyes, "how old are you anyway? You're a fucking high priest. Shouldn't you look more like a thirty year old or something?"

Unexpectedly, the boy slung his arm and hit the stranger squarely in the chest. It wasn't a strong hit, but the sudden blow surprised the stranger, who let go with a grunt and fell backwards. "Fuck you," the priest barked out as he jolted in the direction of the gates. With all the energy he had left, he sprinted past the sleeping guards and into the freedom of the field, the picture of his hometown burned into his mind.


	2. Found

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I actually don't know where this story is heading, which is why it took me so long to get it out haha. If you guys have any ideas, I'd love to hear them. Also, I don't know how to write smut, so, uh...there's that.

Oh, speaking of which, warning for poorly, inexperienced-ly written smut? Enjoy~

* * *

With a pained grunt, the young priest appeared in the darkness of the graveyard behind the sanctuary. His breathing was labored, and blood flowed freely from the gashes covering his trembling body.

"Made it," he groaned, barely able to cast a weak heal spell before collapsing against the cold stone and falling to his knees. It seemed very late, maybe very early; he was in too much pain to care. His white robe shined with a crimson light in the presence of the moon, the blue trimmings torn and ragged. Breathing became more difficult, heavier with every passing moment, and moving only caused the boy more agony.

He had been expecting danger, but nothing like this. Korsyke told him to wait until he had come back from his journey to Moscovia, to not go without him. Telura needed her medicine, though. She was supposed to take it every other day, and the young priest was the one who brought it to her. If she missed a dosage, then it would be as if she never began the medicine at all, making all of her progress in vain.

The young high priest had met the crippled girl after delivering an amulet to her home. After seeing her possessed by the spirit of her brother, he felt that it was his duty to make sure that the young girl was alright. They had become fast friends. Walking had become easier for her in the few months that he had begun visiting her, and the medicine that Korsyke's wife, Lidia, had made for her helped tremendously as well. He wished that he could help Telura escape the slums, as it would be easier to bring the medicine, but he knew that Rekenber would probably find out.

Rekenber! Maybe the attacker was from Rekenber...

The priest let out another groan and gasped as the pain spiked suddenly, clapping a shaking hand over his mouth as he coughed up blood. The man's face, the identity of the attacker, he couldn't remember it now, but the memory of the stranger's hand against his thigh ignited a fear within the bloodied priest that had been suppressed by his earlier rage. If he hadn't attacked like he did, he would've...he might've been... "N-no, no," he whispered, shaking his head dumbly as he tried to steady himself against the wall, "I'm ok, I'm ok, I'm ok..." Lightheaded and weak, he tried to stand, only to fall prostrate onto the damp ground with a dull thud. His vision blurred, and the priest realized that the spell hadn't been able to keep the wounds closed. It wasn't rain that wet the ground; it was blood. He had lost too much.

"At least I was able to give her the medicine..." he mumbled before blacking out.

* * *

"Wist!" A low voice violently shook the boy awake. "Father Mareusis, he's waking up! Wist! Damn it, you little shit! Don't ever do that again!"

The sky-haired priest hesitantly opened his eyes, a dull throbbing sensation covering his body from head to toe. The wall to his left felt cold against his wounded skin. A tall, blonde man who was cover completely by a large armor stared at him with a mixture of anxiety and anger, his large, gloved hands clenching the priest's shoulders.

"Korsyke," another voice called, "continue doing that and you may worsen his condition!"

Lifting his arm gingerly, Wist tried to cover his weak eyes from the room's bright light. "Brother? Why are you shouting?"

The tall blonde sighed, relief hidden in the irritation that came out of his mouth, "Father Mareusis found you collapsed in a puddle of your own blood when he was going to tend the gravestones. Damn it, Wist! You're a fucking high priest, an eighteen-year-old prodigy that can't even heal his self!"

Wist winced at the harsh tone, but held his tongue. His body still throbbed with pain, and he felt lightheaded. Korsyke would only become angrier if he knew the origin of his wounds. "I used all my energy trying to teleport back home," he responded quietly, trying to avoid his brother's gaze. "Didn't have any left over when I got here."

The quick spurt of energy that had possessed the Lord Knight evaporated rapidly, and he dropped into a nearby chair. "You've got to be more careful, Wist. You nearly died. Lighthalzen is dangerous! I told you to wait until I got back from the expedition. We could've gone together, and then this wouldn't have happened."

"Telura needed her medicine, brother-"

"You're more important to me than she is!" the lord knight interrupted tersely, anger seeping into his voice. "You're the only family I have left, Wist. Don't take that away from me."

The younger boy turned his head, sad but understanding of his brother's words. Tense, harsh, Korsyke was like this when he was worried. Being twelve years older than Wist, his older brother had seen far more of the world than the priest, so he had a right to be anxious. "I'm sorry," the priest weakly apologized. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's ok, but just promise me," the blonde sighed, "that it won't happen again."

The bandaged boy rubbed his damp eyes. He hated making his brother worry as much as he did. "I promise, brother."

A slow shuffling of feet made itself known to Wist, and he turned his head to see a plump, elderly priest standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Father Wist," the older man amicably greeted, moving towards the bed that held the eighteen year old. The priest knew who it was immediately, as only one person ever addressed the boy as "Father."

"Father Mareusis!" Wist smiled, struggling to sit up.

Korsyke quickly pushed him back down. "Don't move, Wist. You're not well enough to do that."

"But-" the priest stuttered.

"Your brother's quite right," Father Mareusis said, laying a hand gently on the boy's shoulder to reassure him. "This is the third day you've been in the sanctuary. I sincerely doubt your injuries have fully healed, so please refrain from moving too much. Sister Cecile would be upset if you started bleeding again after she worked so hard to bandage your wounds."

"Right," Wist sighed, keenly aware of the throbbing sensation in his arms and back. "Have the acolyte candidates finished testing already? The sun still says it to be morning."

"Yes, well…" the elderly man gave a caring look to the blue-haired boy before turning to his brother. "Sir Korsyke," he added, "your wife is waiting outside for you. I must say, she did not look pleased."

"Oh, crap." The chair Korsyke had been sitting upon fell to the floor as the knight shot up and out of the room. Mareusis quickly shut and bolted the door behind him, standing before Wist with grave solemnity for a few seconds before letting out a chuckle.

Confusion settled in the younger priest's brow. "Father, what are yo-"

"So, eighteen," Mareusis said. His voice changed, no longer gravelly and warm. It dripped with menace, hunger. "You are a young one."

He watched in horror as the figure near the door shifted. Fear gripped Wist, paralyzing him from screaming. With a sickening crack, the familiar hunchback of the Father straightened. The priestly garments fell to the floor, pooling around the stranger's feet as he made his way to the bed. Nails clawed at the aged skin on his face, tearing off the face of Father Mareusis. Beneath the mask, sinister yellow eyes shined, eyes that Wist had seen only once before.

"What have you done to him, you monster?" Wist choked out.

The stranger shrugged. "Nothing. He's old, possibly senile, definitely saggy. Not my kind of prey, yeah? Although I find it extremely…_cute_ of you to be worrying about him now, considering the situation." The priest could do nothing, not even cry out, when the stranger touched him. Pain flared all over his beaten body, and he nearly fainted as he was grabbed the arm and cruelly pulled into a sitting position.

"Would you look at you," the stranger smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Panting like that. Did I hurt you? Must have reopened a few of those wounds."

"Fuck you," the priest managed to breathe out.

Suddenly a hand shot out, clamping around Wist's throat. "That an invitation, darling?" the man snarled into his ear. "Because I will. And when I do, I promise I will break you."

Wist gasped as the stranger bit his ear. He tried to jerk away, but he was in too much pain to fight, too lightheaded from the blood loss caused by his wounds.

"You naughty boy," the stranger growled, crawling on top of the high priest and forcing his legs apart. "Thinking you could escape me, thinking you could get away. I'm done playing." The boy couldn't stop the groan that escaped his mouth as his assailant's teeth dug into his neck, nor could he prevent his hips from bucking into the stranger's heated touch as the hand that held his throat slid its way down his chest and roughly cupped him between his legs, rubbing and teasing the sensitive flesh. Wist had never touched himself before, due to the obligations of priesthood, so he hardened quickly under the stranger's experienced ministrations. Horrified, Wist tried to lash out, but the stranger's other hand caught his and slammed it against the wall.

"Keep fighting back," the man warned as the priest cried out in pain. "And I swear, when I'm through with you, you won't be able to walk for weeks."

The hand cupping him unzipped Wist's pants to grasp his hardened flesh and began moving faster, more roughly. The sensation was poisonous, overwhelming, and the priest couldn't help but submit to it. Mind cloudy from the mixture of pleasure, pain and shame, the young priest's hands were easily pinned against the wall by one of the stalker's own. The dull throb of pain that plagued him earlier was obscured by a wave of heat and sweat. Wist had never before felt so helpless, so vulnerable. This feeling grabbed at the boy, pulled him into the heat, and he lost himself.

"You slutty boy," the stranger chuckled when Wist let out a loud moan, "look at you, all flushed and desperate for me. You like this, don't you? You liked being controlled, dominated." Ashamed, Wist closed his eyes and turned away. Suddenly, the pressure between his legs was gone, but Wist's body betrayed him, hips jerking forward, desperate for contact.

The boy groaned, and the stranger clicked his tongue in amusement. "Don't worry," he teased, replacing his hand with his knee, grinding his thigh against the whimpering young priest, "I'm not finished."

Obscene noises forced their way out of Wist as teeth and tongue punished his collarbone while the man dragged his nails down the priest's back, leaving a trail of bright red marks on his pale flesh. The rough fabric of the man's pants rubbing against his naked flesh pulled him closer to the edge, but it was the man's voice that sent the boy over.

"You're mine."

His release was violent, liquid spurting all over his own torso as he cried out. His breaths came out in ragged pants, and he slumped against the cold stone wall. The priest could feel the stranger release his arms, and they fell to his sides.

"No more," Wist pleaded weakly, naked and spent, "please." His vision was blurring, and his body once more began to ache.

"Still not finished," the stranger said, "but I'm not really that into necrophilia. Better get someone in here before you bleed out."

He coughed twice before calling out in Father Mareusis's voice, "Someone! Someone please help!"

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, "We're coming, Father!"

"And that's that," the stranger smiled. Wist couldn't make out the man's face anymore, but his yellow eyes shown with hunger.

"Don't forget, Wist," he bent down and whispered into the boy's ear, "you're mine."

The boy passed out.


End file.
